On staying complex…

Weekends have quickly become my new favorite thing. I know this may come as a shock to you, but I really enjoy Wednesdays and Thursdays…they have been replaced. Saturday…the new black. Sunday…the new new black. (Whatever that means.)

With that being said…this past weekend was an exception to that new rule. I spent it in class for roughly 28 hours…discussing matters of sexuality and the like. 

One of my biggest take aways from the weekend though, (besides a swollen booty from sitting so long, a rolling belly from lack of exercise, and a packed full, traffic-jammed-kinda brain) was the idea of “staying complex.”

In my “Basic Issues in Sex Therapy” class this is the idea that you cannot assume anything about the people you are sitting with, that you cannot assume you know their story, or their problem based on a few pieces of information.

 

In my everyday life….it is the idea that everyone is more than they seem. We are all just bodies on the outside, made up of cells, pours, hair, and follicles. We are motions that, without further investigation, are random and nonsensical.

But the truth is…we are pieces of artwork, ever changing, and ever unfolding in front of our neighbors eyes. You can assume that I, being the car in front of you, put on my breaks for the same reason you did. 

(But you’d probably be wrong…it was most likely because something cute and furry ran across the road and I’d rather wreck than hit it. Not anything logical like you might think.)

I’m quick to judge…unlike I am called to be. Unlike I would like to be. I think I know people…based on what? …my own self. Yes, I think I know you because I assume you’re like me.

Oh, how simple-minded I can be. 

Tonight I celebrate you, wherever you are. 

Tonight I celebrate your long, wavy, blonde, hair. I celebrate your fine, wispy, brown hair. I celebrate you, girl with cheeky glasses. I celebrate you who loves to read and finds peace in being surrounded by books. I celebrate you, sweet warrior, landing in another country tonight in the name of Jesus. I celebrate you who thinks cupcakes and brownies are meals in and of themselves (because, obviously, they are). I celebrate you  dude, just trying to get back. You mister/misses boss man/lady, achieving your dreams to the fullest extent. I celebrate you, the passionate wanderer, the one who won’t be tied down to others standards. I celebrate you fighting for your life, you’re doing great. Tomorrow is another beautiful day…the sun rises for you. I celebrate you with a pen in your hand, endlessly writing down your brilliant thoughts. And I celebrate you party girl, always trying to have some fun. And you…the lonely one, I celebrate you and how incredibly brave you are.

 May tomorrow be a day worth celebrating. May we stop and wonder how our neighbor, our friends, and enemies (and by those I mean anyone driving near me in Atl traffic)…how they were made, what they’re reason is for the things they do. May we be curious as to what is important to them. 

…and may we care enough to find out. 

Happy Tuesday…& Wednesday…

ps. Did I mention spring is back? …I forget in winter all that she has to offer. First weekend of warmth and she’s already beckoning to me, teasing me with her warm porch nights, and hazy afternoon storms. 

Proof in the photos above.